The Baron's Betrayal (9 page)

“So you have decided to proceed with your foolish plan to dispense with your wife?” Ellis asked, brushing the back of Tristan’s jacket.

Tristan waved off Ellis’s remarks. “This does not concern you.”

The valet moved in front of him and readjusted the neckcloth. “Someone has to point out your failings, my lord.”

“I shall begin the search for a new valet as soon as I am through with McGregor,” Tristan mumbled.

“If I find some free time this afternoon, I shall assist in the hunt. I will also be sure to advise candidates for the position of their prospective employer’s foolish flights of fancy, and lunacy,” Ellis replied.

The man had been with him since St. George’s hospital in Lisbon. He had been a batman to an officer who had died in battle, leaving Ellis with no visible means of support. With Mrs. Gibbons unable to take care of Tristan’s personal needs, he’d hired the man as a valet when they’d left Lisbon. For some reason Ellis seemed to think because of their time together he could freely spew forth his opinions. And he generally did.

“Nevertheless, you will dispense with your insubordination, and I shall leave your trying presence to meet with my solicitor.”

With trepidation and fortitude, Tristan made his way downstairs, Argos on his heels. Dratted animal followed him everywhere. He knew Marion thought it a joke that the dog panted after him like an untried youth with an opera singer. However, for as much as he grumbled about the dog, he’d found a certain amount of comfort in the animal’s presence. He no longer felt completely alone when no one was nearby. He shook himself from such fanciful thoughts and entered the library.

“John, I appreciate you coming so quickly.” Tristan extended his hand, and the other man grasped it, warm and solid. He and McGregor had been friends since Tristan’s parents’ deaths. John’s father had been named as trustee for the inheritance young Tristan had received. Once John had joined his father in his law practice, he’d taken over Tristan’s legal work.

They’d spent some time together when Tristan was living incognito in London, but this was the first time John had made the trip to Donridge Heath.

“It is wonderful to see you. And I must say, you are looking splendid.” The leather chair in front of his desk creaked as the man settled into it. Tristan moved around the desk and sat, resting his cane against the edge of the desk, noting the rustle of Argos stretching out alongside his chair.

“I assume you bring me news on the problem I had Mr. Landers write you about?”

“Indeed. I did quite a bit of research, mostly to familiarize myself with the Hardwicke Marriage Act and any cases that have been brought before Parliament since the law passed.”

“And what have you found?”

McGregor cleared his throat to the sound of papers shifting about. “Before I start, I must strongly voice my disapproval of your plan, my lord. It was difficult enough watching your estate languish while the courts waited for sufficient time to pass to declare you dead. As you know, it placed me in an uncomfortable position.

“But now this attempt to somehow relieve your wife of her marriage vows is foolish at best and social suicide at worst.”

Tristan sighed in frustration. “I fear I must warn you it will be necessary for you to join the queue to make known your opinion. I find as the day wears on that no one in my employ seems to think chastising the man who pays their salary is inappropriate.”

John continued. “If it is truly your intention to end your marriage, I’m afraid the only solution for you is to attempt to obtain a divorce. Before we proceed any further, please know that a divorce is not only scurrilous, especially for Lady Tunstall, but for all intents and purposes, impossible to secure.”

Tristan flinched at the thought of Marion being the subject of scandal. Something her brother had pointed out to him when he had first visited after the disaster at the assembly dance. John’s words only confirmed what he’d been afraid of. “What about an annulment?”

“Impossible.”

“Why not? I’ve been considered dead for more than two years.”

“Ah, but you were not dead for those two years.”

“Suppose my wife had remarried during that time?”

“According to English law, she would still be married to you, and any marriage she contracted would be null and void.” He cleared his throat one more time. “And any children born of the marriage would be declared illegitimate.”

Tristan leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes. Nothing looked different. Darkness surrounded him whether his eyes were open or closed. He took several deep breaths to stop the panic that sometimes rose when he dwelled too much on his blindness. Attempting to distract himself, he asked, “What would be involved in a divorce?”

The chair across from him creaked once more as McGregor shifted. “A divorce would require several steps. Since the only grounds for divorcing Lady Tunstall would be if she committed adultery—“

“Stop!” Tristan threw up his hand, sweat breaking out on his brow. Those words spoken aloud made him feel dirty and vile. To hear “Lady Tunstall” and “adultery” in the same sentence made his stomach roil. His sweet, loving Marion would never willingly give herself to another man. Of that he was certain.

“Then what you are telling me is there is no way for my wife to be free of me.”

“Excuse my impertinence once more, but as your solicitor for some time now, as well as a friend, I feel the need to ask if this is something Lady Tunstall wants?”

Tristan’s lips twitched. “Yes, you are impertinent, as always, but I will answer your question. My wife does not wish to be free of me.
I
wish for her to be free of
me
.”

“For heaven’s sake, man, why?”

Tristan pushed back his chair and stood, anger at his predicament washing over him. Then, at the slight whimper from Argos, he composed himself and sat back down. “I cannot be a proper husband to my wife, nor a father to any children we might have.”

“That is probably the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say.”

He stiffened. “It is not ridiculous. I have nothing to offer her. She is better off without me.”

“Ah, you foolish man.” His solicitor paused. “Let me ask you something.”

Tristan grunted his response.

“If the situation were reversed and Marion had lost her sight, would you be so quick to be rid of her?”

“Of course not!”

“Because?”

“Because I love her. It would not matter to me.” He tightened his jaw. “But before you go any further, this situation is very different.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. A man needs to be the protector of his family. Don’t you understand
I cannot do that
?”

And there was the crux of the matter. When the time came to take care of his family, he would utterly and completely fail. Just as he had failed his parents when he had survived the fire and his brother had not.

Chapter Nine

Later that night, Marion untied the scarf from the back of her head and shook it out. She blinked a few times to clear her vision. This was the third time she’d wandered around her room blindfolded, and she now knew at least a smidgen of how Tristan felt being unable to see. Frightening is the word that came to mind. Certainly very different from Blind Man’s Bluff. No children cheering you on, calling out to you. No knowledge that with a quick tug at the end of the scarf you would be able to see once more.

Having already dismissed Jane for the evening, Marion moved to the dressing table and sat on the chair’s soft cushion to brush her hair. Once in a while she liked taking over her nightly ritual. She enjoyed running the bristles through her hair herself, closing her eyes, savoring the feel of the brush.

Her thoughts drifted to the last few hours. It appeared she and Tristan had reached a stalemate. As she joined him in the drawing room before dinner, he asked her to sit, as he had something to tell her. Her heart started to pound at the serious expression on his face.

Mrs. Downs had made it a point to tell her that Tristan had met with his solicitor earlier in the day. “What is it that seems to weigh so heavily on your mind?”

Tristan walked to the sideboard and uncapped the decanter of brandy. “Would you care for a drink?”

“No thank you.” Her stomach in knots, she waited patiently while he poured his drink, then crossed the room to sit in the chair farthest from the fire, Argos at his heels.

“I had a visit from my solicitor, John McGregor, today.”

She had a feeling this was not a conversation she wanted to have. “Yes?”

“I had asked McGregor to investigate the best way for us to allow you your freedom.”

Marion bristled. “Tristan, I’ve told you many times, I do not wish—“

“Allow me to finish.” He took a sip of his drink while her insides twisted with fear that the solicitor had found a way. She licked her dry lips and tried to quell her rising panic.

“Given the information he provided, a divorce is not probable.” He paused. “An annulment is impossible.”

She released a breath. If that was the result of the solicitor’s findings, why did Tristan still appear so determined to have his way?

“Then it seems we have no choice. We can resume our marriage and all will be well.”

Tristan placed his glass on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. “No.”

It was a good thing she had refused his offer of a drink. Right now she would have been hard pressed not to dump the contents on her very stubborn husband’s head.

“I have asked John to look into seeking a divorce in another country, perhaps France, now that Napoleon has been soundly defeated.”

Marion stood, her hand at her throat. “My God, Tristan. Do you really hate me so much? Would you move to another country to be rid of me? Give up your English heritage in order to be a free man?” Her voice rose in anger as she tried very hard to keep it under control. It was becoming difficult.

“No, Marion, no. Not at all. I’ve told you this is for you. So you can have a full life.”

“Dammit, stop it. Stop it now!” Hands fisted at her side, she barreled across the room until she was no more than two inches from his face. Tristan leaned back, his eyes wide. Argos growled.

“Stop pretending this is for me. I’ve told you numerous times I don’t want to be ‘free.’ I want our marriage to continue. It makes no difference to me that you’re blind. I don’t care. Do you hear me, Tristan?” She cupped his face in her hands. “I. Don’t. Care.” Sinking to her knees as if her bones had melted, she rested her cheek on his knees. “I don’t care,” she whispered.

Now, as she finished brushing her hair, the sounds of Tristan mumbling to his valet had her longing for his presence. Just to have his strong arms around her, to hold her. He didn’t realize how secure he made her feel, even though he felt useless as a man. During the two years of agony she’d gone through when she thought him dead, all she had ever wanted was to hold him once more.

She blew out a breath and moved to the bed, climbing in and pulling the counterpane up to her chin. Something needed to happen soon. She’d been here almost a month, and they were no closer to a resolution than when she’d seen him in the assembly room with Mrs. Gibbons on his arm. She anticipated another night of tossing and turning, her body aching for the warmth of her husband next to her.

…

Tristan sat on his bed, studying for a Latin exam, when a shout came from somewhere downstairs. No one ever shouted, his father didn’t allow excitement since his wife suffered from delicate sensibilities. Tristan put the book aside and hurried to the door. Flinging it open, he immediately raised his forearm, the back of his hand covering his mouth. Billows of smoke filled the corridor and rolled into the room, clogging his lungs and stinging his eyes.

“Master Tristan!” the butler, Bertram, called to him.

Unable to speak with the spasm of coughing that overcame him, Tristan doubled over, trying desperately to access clean air.

Bertram appeared at the bedroom door, a wet cloth over his mouth. “Come. We must leave the house, there is a great fire in the front rooms.”

“My parents? Brother?”

The butler shook his head. “Unknown, but we need to leave.”

With Bertram holding his hand, they made their way slowly down the back stairs, the heat from the fire already curling the wallpaper as they passed. They stumbled down the outside stairs, coughing as they attempted to pull fresh air into their lungs.

When he was finally steady on his feet, Tristan rounded the house and skidded to a halt when he reached the front. The entire structure was in flames. “Mother!” He raced up the steps only to have his arm yanked, causing him to tumble to the ground. “Let me go!” Tristan attempted to rise, but strong arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, dragging him back.

“No. You cannot go in there. It’s about to collapse.” Bertram’s grim expression threw Tristan into a panic.

“I have to go in. My parents and brother are in there.”

The butler shook his head. “No.”

Just then a loud groan reached their ears as the house slowly folded into itself, flames, sparks, and clouds of smoke and dust shooting up to the sky.

“Noooooo!”

Tristan bolted upright in bed. A fine sheen covered his face and his hands shook. He threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his head in his hands.

“Tristan?” Marion’s voice seemed to come from a distance, even though he knew she would be only steps away. The last thing he needed was another pity visit. He stiffened his spine and sat upright.

“I’m fine. You may return to your bed.”

The mattress shifted as she sat alongside him. “I wish you would let me in, Tristan.” She reached for his hand. The softness of her skin, the scent of her body, the warmth from her closeness, worked together to transform his remaining fear into an agony of repressed lust.

How he missed her! He’d spent two years adjusting to never being near her again, never burying himself deep inside her body while she moaned his name. But to take her, to once again feed the voracious desire for her that consumed him, would be fraught with foolishness.

“My love?”

Her whispered words, so familiar, so achingly dear, mocked him, reminding him of what he’d lost and would never have again. He pulled his hand away lest he gave in to her siren call and shoved her nightgown aside to slide into her welcoming heat. “Please return to your bed. I do not need you here, and would like to attempt to sleep once more.”

It wasn’t necessary to see her face to know how much he’d hurt her and how his rejection had stung. With a wrenching sob she lurched from the bed, and her footsteps receded as she padded across the room, the sounds of her weeping fading as the heavy door between the bedchambers closed.

You have turned into a consummate bastard.

Tristan attempted to lie back down, but the soft sound of Marion’s weeping twisted his gut. God help him, he had to go to her. At least try to explain.

Explain what? That I love her so much and ache for her so much that I spurn all her offers of comfort?

Once again he threw off the covers, felt around the side of the bed for his cane, and started across the room. Argos’s sigh at being disturbed from his slumber announced the dog once again followed along behind. “Dratted animal. You don’t have to accompany me everywhere I go,” he groused.

Tristan leaned his ear against the door separating the two rooms. Shuddering breaths indicated Marion was still crying. He knocked lightly, then entered the room. “Marion?”

“What?” Her muffled voice made him smile. He remembered as a little girl she’d always ended up with a very red, stuffed-up nose when she cried.

“I am sorry.” He walked to the bed and reached out. She clasped his hand, and he sat next to her. “I…don’t know what to say.” He paused. “I do love you. Very, very much.”

Her quick indrawn breath frightened him. He never should have said that. It would give her hope. Something he didn’t dare offer.

He felt her shift on the bed, and before he had time to adjust to her nearness, she’d cupped his face and kissed him. Her soft lips were like the finest rose petals, sweet, fragrant, and plump. She slid her tongue out to taste him, and he pulled her closer. Just a few kisses, he assured himself, and then once he knew she was feeling better he would leave.

The explosion of need that raced through him brought his body to life like nothing since before his accident. He slid his hand up to cup her breast and almost wept. No longer able to talk himself out of it, he eased her down onto the mattress and covered her body with his.

He didn’t need his eyesight to remember how she looked, how her eyes darkened with passion, her cheeks flushed. He slid his hand underneath her nightgown and caressed her calf, moving up the outside of her leg to her thigh, clasping her hip. She felt much thinner. He could feel her ribs, her collarbone, as he shoved the nightgown up and then over her head.

Her soft moan as he took her breast into his mouth and tugged was like the finest symphony to his ears. His tongue teased the taut nipple as he skimmed lightly over it, smiling against her as she clasped his head and tried to bring him closer.

Tristan rose over her, burying his face into the soft skin of her neck, inhaling her oh-so-familiar scent. He hardened further as memories of other nights, other times he had held her like this, rushed into his memory. “I love how you taste, love the feel of the soft skin under your ear.”

“Oh, God, Tristan. I’ve wanted you for so long. I need you.”

“I know. Oh my love, I need you, too.” Bracing himself on his elbows, he rested his palms on her cheeks, brushing tears from her eyes with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice thickened. “I prayed and prayed for you to return to me.” She smoothed back the hair from his brow. “But I never thought to see you again.”

He had wandered into very dangerous territory here. If he was smart, he would ease out of her arms and return to his bed. But her scent, touch, and voice captured him as surely as if she held him in chains. His body betrayed him. He couldn’t stop now..

Without his sight, he found her sighs to be melodious, the perfume of her arousal stronger, the touch of her fingers on his skin more provoking.

His hardened male flesh throbbed with an intensity unknown before now. With his blood racing to his cock, his brain was left to flounder, and he could no longer remember why this was a bad idea. The woman beneath him was the only woman he had ever loved. The only woman he ever wanted to hold, to make love to.

Marion’s breath caught as he moved his hand down and teased the plump flesh between her legs. The moistness covered his fingers as he continued his ministrations until he felt her stiffen and sigh his name. He grinned, remembering how calm her releases had always been. One day he’d like to change that, give her pleasure like she’d never had before.

Once her breathing returned to normal, he used his knee to push her legs apart, and without hesitation, thrust into her, an explosive feeling swamping his senses as if he had come home. His hands clamped onto her shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist, tilting to allow him to plunge deeper. His movements, as he slid in and out of her moist, warm sheath, was a catharsis, something that he’d needed for a long, long time.

It didn’t take more than a few thrusts to bring him to completion. As he poured his seed into her body, tightening his muscles and straining against her, he experienced a moment of panic that he may have impregnated her. He rested his forehead against hers, attempting to catch his breath. Then, with a groan, he rolled onto his back and pulled his wife close. He offered a quick prayer that no new life would result from his lack of control.

Marion snuggled into his side, her hand resting on his chest. “Perhaps we have already started our family tonight.”

Horror shot through him at her words. Of course he had known the possibility existed, but he’d managed to shove that alarming thought to the back of his mind. Now with Marion’s sleepy words, the reality moved to the front and center of his mind.
What have I done?

He assured himself since she’d never conceived during their time together before, it was highly unlikely she would be with child already. But the nagging thought kept him company until his satiated body joined hers in deep slumber.

Tristan slowly came awake with an odd sense of rightness he hadn’t felt in a long time. He stretched his cramped muscles, and his sense of peace immediately evaporated and turned to panic when he felt Marion sprawled over him, both of them naked. Memory swiftly returned. His recurring nightmare, sending Marion away in tears, then joining her in her bed. And what had followed.

Her soft breaths tickled the hair on his chest, but any comfort taken from awaking in her arms was tamped down by the fear of the repercussions from what he’d allowed to happen.